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Sunday, 11 July 2010

Being a Superhero

I was watching 'Kick Ass' today when I had this spark of inspiration. Being a real-life superhero isn't just about being the strongest or toughest person out there. It also isn't about being the most charismatic, the most popular, or the best communicator around. It also isn't about being the wealthiest person in terms of the material and non-material qualities.

It's all of the above.

Striving for all of these might prove nigh impossible, but this isn't, and should never be, an excuse to stop trying. I know that I will be a better man tomorrow, just as how I am a better man today as compared to Me yesterday.

In this context then, being a superhero would mean busting your ass in the gym and in athletics, developing and building a vast and sustainable network of friends, colleagues, acquaintances and business partners, as well as laying and executing the short and long-term plans for acquiring material wealth in the form of liquid cash, equities, and other derivatives.

Oh, and of course, being a fantastic lover.

This is why I torture myself in training. This is why I relish tackling on challenges, physical or mental. This is why I go back to the office on Sundays to clear the backlog of emails and complex issues - It's not for the organisation but for my own learning and experience. This is why I always put away some money every month and do my darnest to increase the percentage of that. This is why starting from next month, I will be investing in a ILP as part of my financial portfolio. This is why while I don't dabble in office politics, I believe in keeping a ear to the ground. This is why I love meeting new people - every person has a story of epic and superhero-ish proportions worth listening to and learning from. This is why the last girl I slept with was literally hot to the touch during the deed and went completely wild. This is why I never believe in limiting myself.

This is what a real-life superhero should be like. Driven, forward-looking, strategic, charismatic, hardworking, smart-working, an excellent communicator, and more. It's never one or the other, but both.

The more I know, the more I push myself.

Wednesday, 24 March 2010

Random Writing: The Anti-Hero

I am in an anti-hero mood tonight. This was written very quickly without much thought and pause, and is essentially a flow of words fueled by particular emotions and memories. As usual, I think this writing is crap. I have been writing academic reports and fitness articles for a while now, and need to get the creative juices for other topics flowing again.

---

My dearest beloved,

I inhaled the scent of freshly baked flowers this morning on my way to work, and I couldn’t help thinking about how you would love this bloom of serenity on this cheerful day. You’ve always been on my mind ever since we met last month at Linda’s going away party. I can still remember that night you know: How you got a little too drunk and challenged me to a drinking contest with Tequila shots. Naturally, I lost since Tequila is one drink I suck really badly at. I was slightly aghast when you suddenly came onto me, but that quickly changed to barely concealed amusement when you started giggling against the side of my neck. I was pleasantly surprised when you whispered that you liked my Bvlgari cologne. Truth be told, I wasn’t really listening. Would you blame me if I told you that I was intoxicated by you?

And yet, come the end of the night, the crowds converged and separated the two of us. We were too drunk to actually obtain each other’s mobile numbers. I would have Facebooked you, but I didn’t know your name. I only know how you looked like. Slim, toned, fantastic curves, reasonably tall, sparkling eyes, beautifully shaped eyebrows, chestnut brown hair, brilliant wavy curls, a generous mouth, well defined dimples. And your outfit! It’s completely erroneous to think that guys aren’t observant. I’m not in that category. You wore a sapphire blue dress off-shouldered on the left, a pearl necklace that you told me you had gotten for a steal in Bangkok, a bangle on your left wrist, and a pair of two-inch heels from Jimmy Choo.

I am certain that I will meet you again, and that it is only a matter of time before we encounter one another in the most unlikely of places. Yet, despite the insanely addictive chemistry we shared with one another, I cannot be with you despite how much I long to. You see, I am innately selfish and driven for my own goals, ambitions, and desires. If I were asked to trade my beloved for a million dollars, I would. In my mind, I am the most important person. You are secondary even though you mean a lot to me. I fear that if we should embark on this next phase of our lives together with one another, I will hurt you in time to come, and leave you weeping and sobbing.

You have no idea how strongly I can picture the two of us together. If only you knew how much I desired waking up next to you in the dawn of day, and feeling your presence so close to me beneath the sheets. We would have a huge bed, the kind with four wooden poles in the corners, and soft silks overlaying the surroundings of the bed. It would be a quiet Sunday morning, where the only sound you hear is that my heartbeat. For that frozen moment in time, we experience true happiness. Or what about a rainy Sunday afternoon? We grab our mugs of Java, nest ourselves on the sofa, and enjoy each other's companionship. We would take romantic getaways and escapades to faraway lands where the lush greenery and exotic sights bring us ever closer. And we wou-

I should stop. We cannot be together.

Yet I still long for you, despite this enormous internal turmoil that I wrestle within myself everyday. I am dangerously flawed, and you would be better off keeping your distance from me, even though that is the last thing I would want. However, because I have fallen insanely in love with you, I must abject myself from your presence, and wish you all the best in loving a less selfish individual. It is not worthwhile for you to pursue a relationship with me, for you will ultimately be left hurting and in deep emotional duress. While seeing you in such torment would be overly painful for me, I know that I will need to break away from you in order for me to redeem myself.

And so, you will have my everlasting blessings. Even though I know that no one will love you the way I do, I am very grateful for the opportunity that I have had in having you in my life for that brief period of time.

Yours lovingly,

Saturday, 13 March 2010

Five Signs The Team Who Designed Your Apartment Was Drunk

1. There is a walkway that leads from your block to the roundabout. However, the first half isn’t sheltered. This means that you’ll get drenched in the event of a thunderstorm before you reach safe ground.

2. Whenever you use the common shower, water leaks through the walls into the kitchen. It’s not much, but it’s annoying as hell especially when you need to hang your laundry. This brings me to…

3. Inane laundry area design mechanics. For some asinine reason, the laundry space is designed for people shorter than 1.6m. Anyone taller than that will encounter ridiculous difficulty in maneuvering around the innovative pulley bamboo system. If you’re a bit of a klutz like me, you can expect to smack your head on the pole at least twice a week while doing your laundry. Like me, you’ll then proceed to curse, swear, and threaten to piss bright yellow urine all over the design team.

4. Having a door that operates electronically is great. Having one that lacks proper control resulting in a continuous slam whenever you fail to close it properly is retarded.

5. This is the motherlode. Have you ever wonder why sinks have a round or concaved structure? That’s because the shape ensures that facial foam, soap, hair bristles, and what have you not flow easily into the sink. My apartment’s toilet sink is flat. FLAT. Watching the dirt and grime that you clean off your face sweep to the sides of the sink and stay there is extremely painful. It makes you wonder just how drunk the design team was, and gives you the inspiration to write this entry.

Monday, 08 March 2010

Surprise A Girl

A friend texted me asking for gift ideas. He was meeting this girl tomorrow for ice-cream. Said girl had just received an Audi for her birthday. Like me, he wasn’t terrifically well to do.

Since I was bored on the commute home, I figured that one of the best ways he could surprise her was to arrange with the boutique of her choice an elegant surprise. He would call them up, pay for the present that he was going to give to her, and have it kept in the store. Then, he would pretend that he had completely forgotten about her birthday present and was being cheap. When they step into the stall, the sales person (or people) would then applaud and tell her that she was the lucky winner of the day, or something along those lines. They would give her the present that my friend had already bought, but all wrapped up nicely, and in-between those velvety ribbons would be a short note written by said friend.

It goes like this: “You didn’t think I’d forget your birthday present, did you?”. Insert big smiley face.

I hope it goes well for him. Thinking of romantic surprises and ideas keeps me happy.

Friday, 18 December 2009

And Now for Something a Little More Sombre

I can't recall the last time I spoke to my dad for more than 10 minutes. Last Saturday broke the record.
We had lunch over at Downtown East It was the first lunch I had with him in months. My sister was there as well. So there were we, the three of us, stuffing our faces with food at a Sakura buffet. I had a bucket of salmon sashimi while the other two had a wider variety. She is more like my dad than I am.
He is 5'5. He has always been skinny and in recent years has began sporting a hunched back and a small belly. His outfit of choice is always a pair of black pants with a collared shirt and black shoes. I have never seen him in anything else other than this when we head out.
We talked about plans for the future. How he would be shifting to a new flat next March. How he should start a consulting business and service to leverage on his decades of experience in quality control and engineering. My insistent attempts at battering down his walls of resistance accumulated from years of negativity, self-doubt, and fear towards the idea. My instruction to my sister to keep persuading him to go for this route because at his age, a job can never be the solution for a way to foot the bills.
He is my dad, but I never want to be like him.
On occasion I find myself very envious of guys who aspired to be like their dads. Dad was their role model and figure. My dad was, in some way, a role model too, but from a different angle: He represents everything that I do not want to be. Perhaps this is more powerful in conveying action in me as compared to ol' dad having a positive role image.
We boarded the train to town after lunch. We sat side by side. I noticed in the reflection of the opposing windows how small he looked. I turned and realised that he had grown older since the last time I saw him. I saw weariness, fatigue, and no small degree of pain. I saw grey hair. I saw loneliness. I felt myself tearing up a little then. I wanted to reach over and tell him, "Dad, I'm sorry for all the times I pissed you off.", but I held back. Wouldn't do to start bawling like a kid in the train carriage.
He got off the train earlier than me. Before he left, I told him that I'd accompany him this year on his annual ritual to St. Andrew's Cathedral on Christmas eve. Usually I'll avoid going with him. This year, I'll stay with him till past midnight before I head off to dance and party. But I'm certain the image of him walking off alone in the distance will stick with me for some time.
I feel so sorry for him and his loneliness that it's almost enough to make me want to take him over to friggin' China and get him a beautiful young girl for companionship.
I need to take him out more often. He likes walking around the streets of his childhood home. That will be the next place I accompany him around. And then, on an empty street, I'll tell him how sorry I am for everything and cry my eyes out to him.
"Dad, I'm sorry I was angry at you for so long."
Maybe he'll cry too, and then we'll hug on the street like father and son again.